


When Night Falls

by Anonymous



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst and Feels, F/M, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Hurt No Comfort, Mild Smut, Patch 4.0: Stormblood Spoilers, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers Spoilers, only up to Holminster Switch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-03 06:18:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21174815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The Warrior of Light seeks comfort.





	When Night Falls

**Author's Note:**

> Half betaed by [smoremoose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smoremoose/pseuds/smoremoose), whose screams shall forever echo in the hallowed halls of Discord DMs.

The last thing Macha would have expected to find in a world on the brink of oblivion was a private room at the local inn. And not just any room, but a strangely luxurious one by her standards.

She was hesitant to accept, at first. Ever since the banquet in Ul’dah, she had trouble falling asleep without someone else sharing their blankets with her – it wasn’t about intimacy, but the knowledge she could trust them with her well-being, and even simple physical contact could lift some of the tension weighing down on her shoulders. Cid was the best possible bedmate in that regard; his large frame alone gave Macha a sense of safety she did not feel with anyone else.

Upon studying her new room, she had reasoned that while the solid doorframes weren’t a substitute for a pair of strong arms around her, they could do nicely to lock the world out for a while.

(She had kept this specific observation out of her thanks to the Exarch, though she had a hunch that it was the real purpose of the gift. Privacy was a luxury rarely afforded to public figures, after all.)

She might have been the Warrior of Light… or Darkness… or whatever the people of Norvrandt thought of her persona, but everyone also seemed to forget there was a woman behind the symbol – sometimes, even herself did. It upset her.

At first, she had thought it was just an impression, that it would pass. She had thought that while the Scions’ priorities were the safety of Eorzea and, at large, of the star, she could count on at least a handful of individuals to have her back on a personal level – _one_ in particular. She definitely _wasn't_ missing Cid's company (she knew it was a lie the moment she thought it), but she wasn't even sure of their relationship anymore – she had been happy to see him again during the whole Omega business, but she couldn't drown the small voice in the back of her head whispering _Cid is like everyone else, treating her as an all-purpose problem solver_, and that made her second-guess every interaction with him.

It was draining.

On top of it all, there wasn't even the chance to have a proper talk with him on the matter, and Macha wasn't sure she _wanted_ to – fear was gnawing at her from somewhere deep within. Fear that he would not _understand_ – he would not _accept_– that she wasn't hero material, that her entire life up to that point was dictated by misplaced expectations and her efforts to meet them. Fear that he would be disappointed if she were to reveal the insecurities hidden beneath the heroic persona.

The constant doubt, and the _nearly_ constant world-shattering emergencies, hindered her attempts at some privacy with him – she was desperate for his touch and some reassurance on his feelings towards her. A gentle squeeze of her hand when Nero wasn’t looking was not enough anymore.

Felling the first Lightwarden had been the breaking point. Exhausted, battered, driven to increasing heights of despair the more waves of newborn Sin Eaters she and her Scion companions dispatched – _they were people_, her mind unhelpfully chanted in a loop – she needed to take her mind off of the horrifying memory of Tesleen being turned into a monster and the destruction in Holminster Switch – _she needed Cid_–

–She curled on her side on her plush bed in the Pendants, pants and smalls down mid-thighs and a hand moving between her legs, trying to recall how it felt to be alive, to be loved, to be safe in a lover’s embrace.

The night breeze coming from the window cooled down her heated skin, but not even the contrast served to provoke anything but mild annoyance. She felt like she had been trying to get off for _bells_, spreading teasing touches on herself that brought her to an edge that fell flat the moment she tried to rub her clit. It simply wasn't clicking.

Sighing, Macha turned to press more of her front side on the mattress, trying to conjure the memory of Cid slowly taking her from behind during one of the early mornings in Mor Dhona, his calloused hands brushing her thigh and teasing the underside of her breast, his beard and lips grazing her exposed shoulders and eliciting breathy moans from her. She could never get enough of the sensation of his hands roaming her body. It was her favourite memory, and it was still so vivid, that she could almost feel the ghost of his touch on her feverish skin.

Her questing fingers ever so slowly pumped inside herself, trying to imitate the pace Cid usually set to tease her open. Her hand was nowhere near as large as his, but what mattered was the _intent_, and she could almost fool herself into believing she was back in his arms and gently made love to.

No responsibilities, just two people in their cocoon of affection and warmth.

_Oh_, how she craved those moments.

After a spell, she felt the embers in her belly finally ignite, spreading a tingling warmth across her limbs, and moved to press tight circles on her clit. She was so wet that her fingers were providing no friction, but she was still feeling the ghost of Cid pressed against her back, his whispers in her ear calling her beautiful and his nails – short, blunt, his amazing, rough fingers moving on her body – digging into that spot on her hip bone that drove her mad with need, and she finally, _finally_, broke over the impasse and crested, pressing her hips against the mattress while stifling her whimpers into the pillow, eyes screwed shut against the wave of pleasure painting her vision hot white.

When her pants subsided, she curled back to her side and slowly opened her eyes, staring into the darkness, unseeing. She was back in the Crystarium, alone and cold, and with a feeling of gnawing emptiness growing inside of her.

**Author's Note:**

> *writes about a WoL who's actually still trapped in the post-ARR patches /playdead*
> 
> I can only blame Discord and my friend [Harpalyce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harpalyce/pseuds/Harpalyce) if this drabble has been posted.


End file.
